Battle Wounds
by KlutzLike Bella
Summary: Jasper. Alice. A vision. Control will be tested as Jasper learns a bit about himself through an unexpected medium.
1. The Begining

This story came out of my own experiences with this particular hobby…

**The Beginning**

The premise for this story came out of my own experiences with this particular hobby…. I couldn't help but wonder how Jasper would feel about the whole thing. And then he kind of took over…. You'll just have to keep reading to see what hobby I'm talking about. Hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** These characters are not mine, but the idea to put them in this situation is. I'm not making any money off of it, though—I'm just combining a few obsessions, and hoping that others enjoy the product.

**A/N:** This story would not exist without the phenomenal NoMoreThanUsual. Her enthusiasm for this piece, her exhaustive beta work, her encouragements, and her time are appreciated more than I will ever be able to express. She poured over numerous drafts—nine or ten of the first chapter alone—and never once complained when I sent it back with 'just a few more corrections'. Please, show her some love and review her stories? They are as wonderful as she is.

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"Alice, what are we doing here? This is crazy…."

"You're going to like it, Jasper. Stop whining."

"But…."

"Enough. Put this on."

With that, she shoved a bundle of clothing into my arms and forcefully propelled me towards the bathrooms. With a sigh, I did as I was told. Sometimes, there was no point in arguing with Alice.

When I emerged, the heel plates of my leather brogans clicking on the modern cement, I finally let myself survey the sea of tents that stretched as far as the human eye could see.

"Oh, Jasper! You look wonderful!" Alice cried, clapping her hands together.

I was amazed how _right_ the outfit she had forced me into felt. I guess that the boy can be taken out of the time, but the time can't be taken out of the boy. Even after 145 years, I was still a Southern boy at heart.

I cleared my throat, straightening the wool jacket I wore. "Thank you, Ma'am," I drawled, touching the brim of my hat as I bowed to her. I couldn't help myself. Even though I thought this whole situation was ridiculous….

I mean, honestly. The idea that there were humans who dressed up in period costume and reenacted the battles and lifestyles of the Civil War was preposterous.

And yet, thanks to Alice, here I was, prepared to join them, dressed as I would have been in my days as a soldier. My pants, jacket and vest were made of grey wool; my leather hat was floppy, wide brimmed affair with a small feather tucked in the band. I also wore a red cotton shirt. _Everything_, from the skin out, was exactly as it had been in those same early days.

"Let's get this over with," I sighed, gathering up my rifle and blanket roll. My cap and cartridge box, the bayonet, a cup, and my canteen were already clipped to the belt I wore, a brilliant brass buckle emblazoned with the letters "CSA" holding it shut.

At least she hadn't made me dress up as a Yankee…

I didn't understand the anticipation I felt coming off of her in waves. It was mixed with excitement and… smugness? She was definitely very eager about something, but what? What did she think bringing me here was going to accomplish?

"Alice? What did you see?" I demanded. I knew she had seen something, had something planned, but I was at a loss to figure out what it was.

"You'll see. Now go! I've got to get dressed myself." She put her hand in the middle of my back and forcefully propelled me in the right direction.

"Alice…."

"You'll be fine, Jasper. Why do you think I insisted you hunt _again_ yesterday? You aren't going to slip." She was glaring at me, determination in her eyes and the air around her.

I still didn't move.

"Jasper, please. Trust me. This is something you have to do. You'll understand, I promise. Everything is going to be fine. Please," she begged.

"But…."

"Go."

I knew better than to argue with that tone. "Who did you say I was looking for?" I asked her with a deep sigh, resigned to follow along with whatever crazy scheme she'd cooked up this time. I never win when I argue with her, anyway. Even when I win the argument, I lose.

"His name is Captain Farquhar, and he'll be with the Fifth Texas Company E," she said, a glint in her eye. The anticipation spiked wildly, and her happiness grew. I walked off in the direction she had pointed me, shaking my head, my thoughts focused on the mystery she had presented to me. What had she seen? Why were we here? I wasn't sure whether I wanted to know or not.

The sea of humanity seemed endless, and searching for one man in the chaos felt like a useless effort. I figured that it would be simpler to find him if I could find the military camps. It made sense. Captain of a military unit, military camp. They really ought to be together. Finding them would be easier said than done, however. There were several hundred people here, and my senses were nearly overwhelmed by the crush; though, thankfully, the monster within me stayed quiescent.

"You look lost. Can I point you in the right direction?"

Another reenactor had come up on me while I was lost in my own thoughts. He was of average height, dressed in the Confederate 'uniform'—grey wool jacket, shirt of indeterminate color, and a pair of pants that were just faded enough to not be 'Yankee blue', and he carried a rifle and cartridge box slung casually over his shoulder. The Confederate army had no real uniform. Rather, they wore whatever they could find. It led to an interesting assortment of colors and styles in the line. The only constant was the grey coat.

"I am, a bit." I replied. "Never been here before, and I'm not sure where the military camps are."

"What unit you looking for?"

"Fifth Texas."

"Well, follow me. Always nice to meet a fellow Texan," he said, laughing boisterously. "Name's Jimmy MacGregor, corporal. Captain will be happy to see some fresh blood." His good humor showed in every line of his countenance as he led me away from the civilian camps.

What were the chances that I'd run into a man from the very unit I was looking for? Ah, yes. Very good, considering my psychic wife had pushed me in this direction.

"Jasper Whitlock," I replied, surprising myself when I claimed my own name. It felt—right—to do so here, like I was reclaiming a bit of my lost humanity just by being here. It was utterly ridiculous to feel that way. I could never regain my humanity, and being around a bunch of humans who held glorified illusions about my time was courting disaster more than anything else. I still couldn't understand why Alice had insisted we come here. Even so, I tipped my hat slightly as I spoke. He was serious about his hobby, and some sort of formal response would be expected of me. I didn't want to add to any suspicions they may have had about me by not playing along. Humans were always leery of my kind, even if they didn't know that they were afraid of us. They watch us more closely, and wonder when the things they see don't fit the pattern they think they should. Like it or not, I was here, and I had to play along. I wasn't about to risk shaking his hand. It would have tested my fragile self-control far more than I liked, not to mention that he would have noticed the icy hardness of my hand. He was a clown, not stupid. Despite all of my doubts, I was astounded to find myself smiling. I found myself liking him already. And that was strange, especially considering my personal feelings towards being here

"You ever done this before?" Jimmy asked me curiously.

"What?"

"Reenacting. You know what you're doing?"

"I was part of a unit a few years ago, when I still lived in Texas." I admitted. No reason to tell him that it wasn't as a reenactor.

"Good. Means we aren't going to have to teach you to shoot that fancy rifle of yours," Corporal MacGregor laughed. "Nice change from the boys who usually join up. Most of them don't know how to shoot a modern handgun, let alone a black powder rifle."

That wasn't a problem I'd ever run into, back in my days as a soldier. Most of my boys had had to hunt to survive. They were, by necessity, very good with their rifles. It was their marching that had left something to be desired. Southerners, then and now, have a well-earned reputation for being fiercely independent. It was difficult to get them to function as a single, united front.

It was a desire to keep that independence, not a wish to spread slavery, which had led to the War. The main conflict centered on whether the state or national governments should reign supreme when it came to running the country. Prior to the war, a person would have said 'the United States are' rather than the more modern 'the United States is', because each state considered itself an independent, sovereign nation loosely united with the other states in matters of trade and defense. Slavery was an incidental issue, introduced in order to polarize the conflict. It worked.

Suddenly, the man next to me called out, "Captain! Found us a new recruit!" The sudden exclamation startled me, lost as I had been in my reverie. I looked up to see a small group of men in motley grey lounging around a fire. An older man in a captain's uniform started toward us.

"Picking up strays again, corporal?"

"Yes, sir! But you're gonna like this one. He can shoot."

"Name?" the captain asked, turning his steel blue eyes on me.

He was a small man, hardly over five feet tall, but he had the piercing stare of a true commander. This was not a real military command, but his men respected him as though it were. He genuinely cared for them, and they worked as hard for him as any of my men had ever worked for me. The sense of brotherhood I felt was nearly overwhelming. It, also, was a familiar feeling. I began to rethink my initial opinions the moment the Captain's eyes met my own. These people were not trying to borrow the glory of a bygone era. They truly loved the time, and wanted to share their passion with others. They wanted to bring the times back to life, teaching the spectators even as they enjoyed one another's company.

"Jasper Whitlock, sir."

"Captain Otis Preston Farquhar. Everybody calls me Opie, though. Welcome to the Fifth."

"Thank you, sir," I replied, saluting him properly.

A few hours later, I sat in the camp, still marveling over the authenticity these men strove to present. They truly loved what they did, and fought to teach others about their passion. When they were in costume, they strove to live the parts they played. It was utterly mind-boggling. And through it all was laced the same camaraderie that I had felt countless times as a member of my own unit, so long ago. They were brothers. And they welcomed me as easily as they did the men that they'd fought beside for years. That was stranger to me than anything else I'd seen today. Humans accepting a vampire. I was shocked to realize I was enjoying myself.

Like their historic counterparts, the day was not spent in inactivity. Even in the camps they held to the old adage that 'idle hands do the Devil's work'. Even as they lounged, joking with each other, men worked. Some cleaned their rifles, some whittled, some measured out the black powder charges they would need for the battle held the next day, and still others tended the fires and cooked for their fellows. Everywhere I turned, men were busy with the tasks that I had seen a thousand times in my own camp.

I spent a major portion of the afternoon with Jimmy, being introduced to the rest of the boys and learning their stories. Each man had a story to tell, about who he was, where he was from, and how he ended up a member of the Fifth. I heard many stories that afternoon, but I generally enjoyed those about how each man had earned his nickname more than the rest, because those were the stories that the men themselves delighted in telling. There was Red, named for his hair, and George "Floppy Hat" Hatfield, named because no one could tell him and his brother apart when they weren't wearing their hats. Bobby Hatfield, his twin, wore a kepi, as compared to George's slouch hat

And then there was Spider. Apparently, the 6'2", 250 pound man was afraid of spiders. During a campaign the previous year, he and Corporal Hastens had been assigned to sniper duty behind the tree line, and a spider had dropped onto the back of Spider's neck. He started screaming, dancing around while trying to get the spider off. The next thing they knew, they were surrounded by Yankees, and taken prisoner. Each man's story was known as a "First Person Impression" and these were the stories that were told to the spectators in order to show what life was like. They were all well-researched, carefully thought out, and the men stuck to them for the duration of the reenactment. It was fascinating. I was truly surprised at how much I enjoyed myself, even without Alice at my side, and how pleasant I found the company of these humans.

That night, there was a company dinner hosted by the Civilians—each of the women had brought a contribution to "Stone Soup", and they were going to feed all of the soldiers for the night. There was a general feeling of eager anticipation and excitement among the men. It was uncommon for the soldiers, many of whom had wives and children, to have a reason to spend much time in the civilian camps, let alone permission. This was an opportunity for them to spend time with those they loved, as well as their friends among the civilian men. I could completely understand their anticipation. I cannot remember the last time I spent so much time away from Alice—I wanted to see her so badly that it hurt. I didn't know whether their anticipation was feeding mine, or if my own excitement was increasing that of the soldiers gathered around me. In the end, it didn't really matter.

The captain marched us in proper formation down to the civilian camp, after reminding us to keep our first person impressions and making sure that we were a model of the time, because of the modern spectators that were still visiting the camps. I was going with a part of my own story for my impression—I joined up in 1861, lying to the recruiters about my age. I did not, however, claim my rank of major, because that would have put my rank above the captain's, upsetting the chain of command. I was not here to take control of the unit – rather, I was here to understand whatever it was that Alice had seen.

As we neared the civilian camp, the wind carried the smell of wood smoke and home cooking to us. Enthusiasm and impatience spread like a wildfire through the ranks. I couldn't help but feed both emotions with my talent, wondering as I was about where Alice was and how she had spent her afternoon.

Once we had all been dismissed from the ranks, and ordered to stack our guns and grab a bowl, I settled on the grass with my prop, far enough away from the humans that I wasn't really tempted by the scent, but still close enough that I wouldn't seem antisocial to my new 'brothers'.

All thoughts of them were forgotten when I saw Alice emerge from one of the tents. She wore a simple camp dress of dark grey and red plaid cotton, and had a straw hat perched delicately on her head. The dress was long enough that I could barely see the toes of her black boots peeking out as she glided towards me. It did not cling to her body, but somehow, that made her soft curves even more tantalizing. The gathered bodice flowed freely to her tiny waist—the perfect hourglass figure. A row of simple wooden buttons held the bodice closed, and a white collar lay against her throat. The long sleeves rested perfectly at her wrists, and a simple apron protected her full skirts. I have never seen her more beautiful.

The bowl slipped forgotten to the ground as I slowly rose to my feet, my eyes focused solely on her. She walked over to me, the cotton of her skirts rustling softly around her ankles.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she teased softly. "I knew you'd like it!" She giggled, and spun on the ball of her foot.

"I… Alice… Um…" I was speechless. I could barely keep myself from wrapping my arms around her and… well, never mind. "Yes," I finally managed. "I like it very much."

"Just wait until tomorrow night," she teased again.

"What's tomorrow?"

"There's going to be a Reenactor's Ball. It is going to be so much fun! I can hardly wait!"

"A ball? Now _that's_ something I'm eager to see. I'm having a hard time imagining something that will look any better on you. You are… absolutely breathtaking, darling."

"Jasper! You gonna introduce us to that pretty lady of yours? You sure look like you've seen something you like!" Corporal MacGregor called, chuckling.

"Certainly. This is my wife, Alice. Alice, this is Jimmy MacGregor. He helped me find the military camp this morning."

"Wife? Damn, I was gonna ask her to the ball! You know, be a gentleman and all. Guess that's out, then?" he laughed.

"Sir, I would have to say that that is definitely out. My wife will be attending the ball with me."

"I ain't no sir. I'm just a corporal." The laughter again wafted through the camp, because more men than Jimmy MacGregor had noticed my beautiful wife. They were all paying attention to us, their emotions ranging from lust to happiness to a twinge of jealousy. I imagine that Jimmy MacGregor was not the only man hoping to ask my Alice to the ball. I wondered how many would ask her to dance with them, come tomorrow night. Not that I would allow them to pull her away from me. There were dances where the participants switched partners, but they always ended the dances with their original partners. I could tolerate those. I hoped.

"Pleasure to meet you, corporal," Alice said, trying out a Texas drawl for the first time.

I almost lost control again.

She sounded… wonderful. Add the accent to the dress, and she could have gotten me to do anything she wished. I was completely under her spell. If this was the high point of the weekend, I was satisfied. It was all worth it. And we were definitely keeping that dress.

And tomorrow night, I would see her in a ball gown. I couldn't even imagine how incredible she would look. I don't dislike modern styles, and Alice looks marvelous in whatever she wears, but as hemlines inch higher, necklines plunge deeper, and fabrics stretch tighter, a part of me longs for the modesty of my human days. I grew up in a world where a woman with her hair down was no better than she ought to be and a man without his vest was more than indecent. A world where the sight of a woman's ankles led to marriage. In many ways, I miss those days, but in others I am glad they're gone. I would never have been able to hold my Alice in public, no matter that she was my wife. Public displays of affection were forbidden. The rules seem so arbitrary, in today's society, but they served their own purpose at the time.

But something in me still craves those times—they seem so much simpler, looking back on them, though I know that that feeling isn't really true. We lived hard lives, where nearly everything we did had to be done with our own two hands. From a technological standpoint, modern times are much easier, though it was simpler to live in anonymity when technology did not allow for instantaneous communication.

More than anything, I miss seeing the connections between people. In my day, most people lived in the same town for their entire lives—everyone knew everyone else, and there were always people ready, willing, and able to help others should it be needed. I had lost that ability to connect, that sense of family, when I lost my humanity. Modern times seemed to reflect my own inability to bond with the community – it was almost as if the modern age had lost its humanity as well. Divorce, unheard of in my day, was at an all time high. Families rarely spent time together. People today can live next door to the same person for a decade and never learn each other's names. It's sad, really. We have, as a society, lost so much, and it will not be easy to get it back.

And yet, being here gives me hope that it is possible. These people all know and genuinely care for one another. They are, as a whole, willing to jump in and help whenever help is needed.

In short, I loved it. Alice was right. And we still had two more days here.

Drawing my attention back to the present, I turned to my adorable wife with a smile. "Alice, love, will you please be careful at the ball, especially when you're twirling?"

She knew the answer, but the little minx made me say it anyway.

"And why would that be?"

Oh, God. That accent again… "Alice, you'll be wearing hoops at the ball. They have a tendency to fly up as the person wearing them spins. And if they do, this being 1863, well, I'm the only one allowed to see that."

"Again, why would that be?" I knew she was enjoying herself, the twinkle in her eye giving away as much as the emotions I felt.

"Because as your husband, only I am permitted to see those delicate, beautiful, perfect ankles of yours," I informed her solemnly, as I ran my fingers gently along her jaw to her lips. "Or anything else, for that matter," I added as an afterthought. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face against the top of her head, the rough weave of her straw hat scraping against my cheek as her scent overwhelmed me. I let my voice deepen as I nearly growled, "I don't share."

Her twinkling laughter again swept over the camp, the beautiful sound stunning some men to silence. The rush of emotions brought a deeper growl to my lips.

"Don't worry, Jazz. I don't share, either," she whispered fiercely as she pressed her small hands to my chest and stood on her toes to bring her face nearer to mine. Unable to resist, I bent down closer to her face and inhaled her delectable scent. I didn't need to kiss her; being close like this had always been enough for us. As I stared into her brilliant eyes, I lost myself in the pleasure of her presence, her light touch on my coat and the love that shone from every line of her body. My Alice. She was everything to me, the only reason that the life I led was tolerable. The only reason I had not lost myself to the darkness long ago. No, I would not share. Ever.

The rest of the night passed in a swirl of positive emotions—happiness, love, camaraderie, brotherhood. The people here were a family in the true sense of the word. It was very nearly overwhelming, and the thirst ceased to bother me quite so much. I was beginning to let myself fully trust in my wife's visions. I was letting myself enjoy the company of people outside my own family for the first time in far too long. I regretted my earlier opinions of these people and their hobby. They were not trying to borrow the glory of the past. Rather, they loved the times and wanted to share that enthusiasm and joy with others. They cared about the sights they presented, they cared about each other. It gave me hope. Hope for the future; both that of myself and society as a whole.

It was over far too quickly—we were called back into ranks, though two of the boys picked up the washtub that had held the soup—there was quite a bit left, and someone had had the bright idea to let the soldiers have the leftovers for breakfast. Another meal I would be skipping… We marched back to the camp, still surrounded by the warm feelings of the gathering.

And I would get to see my wife in a ball gown in less than 24 hours. I only hoped that I could control myself.

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Like I said, this story is based off of my own experiences with this hobby. That being said, I am a civilian, not a soldier, so some of my descriptions may be off. As a woman, I cannot spend time in the military camps without an escort, and the men are generally too busy to escort us all over the place. I am also relatively new to doing it, so please keep that in mind. I don't know everything there is to know about what I'm talking about. But I have done a lot of research, both for this story and my own first person impression. I hope you enjoy the product.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Not Glory

**Not Glory**

Yet again, I must thank the fabulous NoMoreThanUsual for her awesome beta skills and her constant encouragement. This would not have been written without her.

**Disclaimer:** These characters still are not mine. They never will be.

**A/N:** Again, this story is based on my own experiences with this particular hobby. Hope you enjoy the product.

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The battlefield was covered in a haze of smoke that grew deeper with each volley. The sulfurous stench of burnt black powder was a thick miasma in the air, even more offensive to my superior senses than it had been in my past. Drumbeats thundered behind me, echoing in my heart and mind.

I took a deep breath, bringing my rifle to my shoulder. I sighted along the barrel, taking careful aim at one of the blue coated Federals across the field. He saw me, and his eyes widened in mock fear. I shot, the kickback of the action slamming the butt of my 1853 British Enfield into my shoulder. He fell. But the Yankees were still gaining ground. We were woefully outnumbered.

Men fell around me, and I found myself in the front ranks. Then the boy who carried our company flag faltered and fell, the tattered cloth fluttering slightly in the breeze as the pole clattered to the ground beside him. I lunged forward, grabbing the worn wooden pole from the dirt. I raised my arm, the flag catching in the wind, and let loose a wild yell, which was echoed and repeated by the ragged line of men still standing beside me, swelling as they watched their colors fly, forcing them to fight with renewed vigor. The booming rapport of the cannon thundered over the field as the artillery commanders shouted their orders, their voices mingling with the orders of our own captain, and blue-coated men fell in a mass clump. But it was over. The captain signaled retreat, and the drum's cadence changed from a marching rhythm to a withdrawal. Each man still standing wrapped his hands into the coat of the nearest wounded, dragging him back to the safety of the trees, where he immediately jumped up and readied himself for the next charge.

This time, we would add a bit more acting to the scenario. We marched forward again, the drums guiding our steps, as we closed with the Yanks. Orders flashed down the line, and we fired. Down went the guns, and men began the process of reloading their single- shot rifles. A good marksman could get off a shot every thirty seconds or so. We fired again, the rhythm slightly ragged this time.

And then the Yanks returned fire, perfectly in time with one another. The resulting roar could have come from one gun. The man next to me, Billy Allen, fell. His neighbor, George Hatfield, then broke ranks, kneeling down beside him. George was not checking on his friend's well-being. Instead, he began to rifle through the 'dead' man's pockets, removing anything of value and stuffing it in his own. And then he stole Billy's brogans, tying the laces together and slinging them over his shoulder. They had planned the whole thing, but it was something that had really happened on the battlefields of the War. By 1863, all of our supplies were running short, and the Confederate dollar was practically worthless. There was little shame in robbing the dead when it meant that the living would be able to stay that way just a little bit longer. I had seen this played out so many times. Then, however, there was no act.

When the Union cannon began firing, it was time to act a bit more. The Yanks themselves were still advancing, firing at us as they went. A disturbance further down our line caught my attention. Bobby Hatfield, twin brother to George, had broken rank as well. He, however, was not raiding the dead. He was running. Deserting. Without missing a beat, the First Sergeant turned, raised his rifle to his shoulder, and fired. Robert fell.

Deserters weren't tolerated.

Another Union volley struck our line. Another of the boys let himself fall, but he was not going to stay there long. As the Federal line inched closer, he struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his gun as he tried to limp away from the carnage on the field. The Confederates gave one final, ragged yell as they were surrounded and taken prisoner. The Yanks marched us off into the tree line, but not before Corporal Hastens gave his life for his freedom. He twisted away from the soldier who held him, and ran.

One of the Federals fired at him, and he fell, his hat flying off. He didn't move again.

When we reached the trees, the joy I felt was nearly overwhelming. The men were proud of themselves for all they had done today, teaching others about their passion. They truly enjoyed what they did. Out on the field, the spectators were cheering wildly. Our captain and the commander of the Union troops solemnly shook hands, congratulating each other on a battle well-fought.

The drums began again, and each unit regrouped nearer the spectators, both sides in one long line as they continued to cheer for us. The battle was over.

Now to pull the audience into the act. The command to load our rifles echoed through the still air. I held my rifle upright between my feet, the muzzle in my left hand as my right reached into the cartridge box at my side. Pulling out one of the paper cartridges, I tore the paper with my teeth, pouring the powder down the muzzle. Ordinarily, that would have been followed by the minie ball, but, understandably, that step was skipped here. Next, I drew the ramrod out of its place below the barrel, compacting the powder with a few sharp taps before returning the rod to its place. Then I drew the hammer halfway back, placing a copper percussion cap on the nipple of the hammer. I brought the gun to my shoulder again, lowering it briefly while I took the proper stance. Then the rifle went back down as the command to affix bayonets rippled down the line. With a hiss of steel, the triangular knife slid out of its scabbard. The troops clicked them into place, and then raised their guns to point at the crowd before us. I took aim, picking my target, making sure it was well above the heads of the crowd for safety reasons. At "Fire" every rifle on the field went off, toward the crowd, who gasped in collective surprise. And then we charged, a rebel yell echoing from every throat, including those of the Yanks.

Laughter, gasps of surprise, and loud cheers accompanied the drums this time.

Finally, it was over, and each unit marched back to its respective camp.

A bloodless battle.

A performance.

Choreographed, like a complicated dance. Long before the first shots were fired, all participants knew what the outcome of the battle would be.

So different from the battles I had known.

My human memories are relatively clear. A vampire's physical condition, at the time of the change, is a determining factor in the ease of memory recall. I was in perfect health, fully aware, when Maria found me that dark January night. And I wanted to remember. I wanted to recollect the men I had fought beside, my friends in the ranks. We lived together, fought together, ate together, and laughed together. We depended on each other, often for our very survival.

In so many ways, my men were my family; much like the men here considered themselves brothers.

Even still, my memories of battle are chaotic. A swirl of colors, the roar of the guns, the stench of burnt black powder, stinging my eyes and burning in my throat. The euphoria of a battle won, the crushing despair of a battle lost. And the pain of knowing, before each battle, that win or lose, some of my brothers would never return. That is what I remember.

Pandemonium.

Agony.

Not glory.

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There goes Chapter Two! Please tell me if you enjoyed it... The encouragement makes me more eager to continue. And there is a reason I made Maria change Jasper in January-- the real Battle of Galveston began on January 1, 1863.

Thanks for reading!

KLB, AKA EGF


	3. Almost

Ball

**Almost**

Well, this is not what I was hoping to get out with this chapter, but hopefully y'all enjoy it anyways.

**Disclaimer:** As much as I enjoy playing with these characters, they are not the product of my mind. They are, therefore, not my property. That honor belongs solely to Stephenie Meyer.

**A/N:** I have to thank the wonderful NoMoreThanUsual for her continued support for this story, as well as her awesome beta skills and endless patience. This would not have gotten written without her.

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Fighting against irrational nervousness, I pulled the soft, white cotton gloves onto my hands, gave my long black frock coat a final twitch, straightened my white collar and black tie, and smoothed a wrinkle out of my black wool trousers. I settled my hat on my head, and exited the tent. Generally, the soldiers attend the balls in their uniforms, but Alice refused to allow that for me.

I began the walk to the civilian camp, hardly able to restrain my speed. I wanted to run, wanted to see my Alice as quickly as possible. The air of anticipation that surrounded both camps was detrimental to my efforts to control myself, but I somehow managed to keep myself well within my human charade.

And then I stopped dead.

The scene that was playing out before my eyes was not uncommon; it should not have surprised me as much as it did. One of the civilian men was standing in front of his tent, his eyes focused on a small mirror that hung crookedly from a nail driven into one of the poles that held up the fly.

As I watched, frozen, he raised his arm, scraping the straight razor over his cheek.

Venom pooled in the back of my throat as I imagined what would happen should he press the blade just a little bit too hard. The sweet scent of his blood would drift toward me, tempt me, and beg me to taste it. I wanted it.

And it would be so easy to make him cut himself. All it would take was a short burst of anxiety, a quick stab of fear. In his adrenaline-filled state, he would press just a bit too hard, releasing the blood I so desired. If I moved quickly enough, I could push him into the tent that stood open behind him before anyone noticed. There, beneath the sheltering canvas, I would be able to drain him dry. I reached for my gift, readying a stab of panic, directing it towards the unsuspecting human that stood so close to me.

Then my Alice's face flashed before my eyes, followed quickly by a vision of my own visage, twisted with feral hunger, my eyes glowing scarlet, a badge of my shame.

I turned away from him, sickened. I had come so close to destroying everything I held dear, all for the fleeting pleasure of human blood on my tongue, satiating my burning thirst for a brief moment. I knew that if I allowed myself to taste one human, it would destroy all of the resistance I had managed to cultivate. The guilt of the man's death would weigh heavily on me, dragging me back into the depression I have tried so hard to escape, and a single taste of his blood would make further resistance so much harder

The faces of my family flashed before my eyes—Esme's saddened eyes, Rosalie's contemptuous glare, Emmett's muted good humor, Edward's attempts not to judge me for falling short of his own level of self-control, and Carlisle's pain filled, compassionate stare, telling me that he understood why I had done it, but that he was still disappointed in me, his newest son.

Worst of all would be the pain in the eyes of my Alice, questioning my dedication to her as she saw the evidence of my infidelity, the pity in her gaze when her topaz eyes met my own scarlet ones.

I was a monster to even consider hurting a human, especially in this close-knit community, where people actually kept an eye on one another. Soon enough, their suspicions would fall on Alice and I, the newcomers, and they would realize that I had been the last being close to the man. I would risk exposing everything. I was a monster in the worst sense of the word. I forced myself to swallow the venom burning in my throat.

And I was running off to a ball. With humans. It was hard enough to control the bloodlust around them as it was. The excitement and activity of the dance, and the fact that I would actually be dancing with them, close to them, touching them would only make it worse. No matter how wonderful Alice looked in a ball gown, I was positive that, at best, I was in for a night in hell. At worst, I would bring hell into the ballroom with me, loosing a terrible monster on the unsuspecting humans who made the mistake of being too close to me.

Shit.

I couldn't do it. I would slip, I would hurt someone. I had already come so close tonight.

It was a risk I couldn't take.

It wasn't worth it.

I wouldn't gamble on my control, no matter how much I enjoyed betting on other events in my life.

I turned quickly on my heel, the frock coat I wore swirling around my knees, and began to head back to the military camp. It would be deserted now—the perfect place to try and keep control of the beast within me. To be completely honest with myself, it would be the perfect place to hide.

I forgot to take Alice into consideration.

"Jasper Whitlock, don't you dare!" she cried, exiting a small tent not far from the man who had so nearly lost his life to the monster within me. She ran, at human speed, towards me, rage blazing in her eyes.

"Alice, I can't…"

"Yes, Jasper, you can. I've already _seen_ it! You'll be fine!" she hissed, interrupting me. She lowered her voice so that the humans around us wouldn't be able to hear. "You've already stopped yourself once. You're stronger than you think you are. I trust you. Why can't you trust yourself?" She reached up, pressing her palms into the lapels of my jacket, her eyes begging me.

I carefully took her hands in mine, meeting that desperate gaze with my own. "I'm afraid, Alice. I don't want to hurt anyone. I already came so close… and I wasn't even touching him! It's going to be so much harder when we're at the ball, when we're close to them. Alice, I'm going to have to touch them, while we dance. Balls were originally designed to get young men and women together in a socially acceptable way. They were to meet people. You don't get to stay with the same partner all the time. I can't risk it. I love you too much to risk it."

"Jasper, please. I know you can't trust yourself, but can't you try and trust me? I won't let you slip, I promise. The moment anything changes, we'll leave. But I know that this will be important. I can't see why, yet, but we need to do it. Please, Jasper."

"Alice, I…"

"Please."

The emotions coming off of her were unbearable. I hated disappointing her. She'd been so excited for this, yesterday. And here I was, fighting to keep her from it, just because my control was so weak. I couldn't stand it, but I could still not reconcile myself to the risk I would take with the humans who had accepted me so easily.

Her face fell further. The expression cut deep into my heart.

I couldn't bear to disappoint her. "Fine, Alice, I'll go. But only if you promise to tell me the moment anything changes."

"You know I will," she said, a soft smile lightening her features. She stretched up on her toes, begging me for a kiss, which I happily obliged her with. And then I finally noticed the hoop skirt pressed against my legs.

I pulled away from her slightly, trying to take in her outfit. She was… beyond beautiful. She had found a black braided wig somewhere, and it was wound around her head, making her short hair look long. Even I, with my heightened senses, could hardly tell that the hair was not her own. She had a small gold comb, covered in a line of pearls, tucked into her hairstyle, and a matching necklace lay against the curve of her throat. The bodice of her green silk dress bared her delicate shoulders, and its short sleeves exposed her lovely arms. The fact that she wore a corset was quite obvious, and the bodice fit her tightly before flaring out into her full skirts, held out by the hoop skirt I had noticed previously. Like me, she wore a pair of soft, white cotton gloves. I couldn't see her shoes, under that marvelous gown, but she was an inch or so taller than normal, leading me to believe that she wore a delicate pair of heels.

I stared at her, utterly speechless as my mental capacities fled from my head. They came to rest, well, somewhat lower than they had been previously. If I had thought she looked beautiful yesterday, it was absolutely nothing compared to today.

She giggled softly at my reaction, but said nothing else. She stepped away from me instead, looking over her shoulder with the most sinful grin I've ever seen. I couldn't move. The rustle of her silk skirts captivated me.

"Aren't you coming, Major?" she purred, still too low for the humans to hear.

That got me moving. I was back at her side, not caring that I had probably moved too quickly. I wrapped one arm around her tiny waist, drawing her close to my side. "Alice, darling," I whispered, the rough tone of my voice surprising even me, "are you absolutely certain you want to go to the ball? There are other, very enjoyable activities that I can think of doing with you, right now."

She laughed again, louder, and I saw several heads turn in our direction. A soft growl escaped my lips at the rush of emotions I felt coming off of them.

"Behave!" she admonished playfully, smacking my shoulder, a glint of humor in her eyes. "Yes, Jasper. I still want to go to the ball. We need to get going, though. I don't want to miss the Grand March." She grinned again. "But don't worry, Major. I won't get rid of the dress," she purred again.

I groaned. The little vixen was trying to kill me! I forced myself to release my hold on her, offering her my arm instead. "Well," I drawled, "if you're sure I can't tempt you, Ma'am, we'd best get going then."

I had to fight the laugh that bubbled to my lips when I felt the rush of desire she felt at hearing my words.

She smiled again, placing her arm in mine. "You're right," she replied, using that accent against me again. "We'd best get going. We don't want to miss anything."

With that, we both headed off towards the ballroom, following a long line of other couples, each dressed to the nines.

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Well? What do you think? Please let me know. I am more motivated to continue when I know that people enjoy what I write.

Thank you for reading!


	4. Epiphany

Ball

**Epiphany**

This took far longer than I wanted. I sort of lost all inspiration after Breaking Dawn…. Hopefully, the coming chapters don't take nearly as long.

**Disclaimer:** I am not, nor will I ever be Stephenie Meyer. Though, after Breaking Dawn, I'm not sure I'd want to be…. Either way, these characters belong solely to her.

**A/N:** Thank you, thank you, thank you to the magnificent NoMoreThanUsual. Her encouragements, suggestions, and comments helped me more than I think she knows. Go read her stories—they are very nearly as amazing as she is.

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I have seen many beautiful places in my time on this earth, and I have ceased to be impressed by much, but even I could appreciate the beauty of the ballroom. The floors were a deep, rich mahogany, and the vaulted ceiling soared high above our heads. + The room was divided between a reception area and the dance floor by huge white pillars, and a delicate pattern of hand- painted vines and flowers encircled them, flying to encompass the entire room. The walls themselves were a delicate, antique gold that matched my Alice's eyes tonight. A large, low platform occupied the center of one wall. The musicians who would provide the night's entertainment were already set up and playing when I entered, Alice resting her arm comfortably in the crook of my elbow. Opposite the musicians, a set of wide French doors led out onto a lovely terrace that overlooked a large, well –tended garden.

A group of men stood near one of the pillars, and I could see a single chair standing in the midst of the group. As Alice and I drew closer, the crowd thinned to the point where I could read the sign that had been taped to the back of it. "No Heel Plates or Hobnails Beyond this Point", it announced, and a roll of silver duct tape rested prominently on the seat. One of the men stood awkwardly on one foot, sticking a piece of tape over the plates of his brogans. He then moved cautiously out of the way, freeing the space for the next man in line.

"Hold your breath, you'll be fine," Alice whispered conspiratorially, a mischievous grin on her lips. "Now get over there," she giggled, "you don't want to hurt these pretty floors with those horseshoes in your soles!" I could hardly contain the excitement she felt, actually being here. And then I felt a slight spike of something like vindictiveness. My wife had seen something, again. I knew better than to ask exactly what she'd seen, however. When she looked so downright sinful, she would never share.

I took one last deep breath, feeling the burn of the venom deep in my throat, and resigned myself to the hell that came of not breathing. It was, however, a lesser hell than smelling the humans at every turn. It was easier than I had thought it would be, but I knew it would get more difficult as the night progressed; as the humans around me grew warm with the exertions of the dances, and I was forced to actually bring my skin in contact with theirs.

As I walked back to my Alice, I began to gain an inkling of what she may have seen. Leather-soled shoes and wood floors are not the most stable combination… those bits of metal in the soles of a pair of brogans were really the only traction they had. It was a bit like walking on a wooden floor in stocking feet, and the humans here were far clumsier than I was.

There were a few couples dancing as reached my Alice again. With a grin, I bowed to her, my hand held out, and, using some of the precious, clean air I held in my lungs, I drawled, "May I have this dance, Mrs. Whitlock?"

"Of course," she replied, the musical lit of her voice sending a flash of desire through my entire body.

Gracefully, she set her small hand in mine, and we glided out onto the floor. I gathered her close to my chest near the back of the room, and we began to twirl together, in perfect time to the music. I couldn't help but compare this dance to the last dance I had publicly shared with Alice. There, we had been surrounded by the vile teens of Forks High School, and the emotions of every man in attendance had turned to raging lust when they had set eyes on my wife and my sisters. That night, it wasn't bloodlust that had bothered me. It had been jealousy, pure and simple. Alice had been beyond beautiful, as usual, in that dress, but I had hated every moment she spent before their eyes. The music had been horrible, the dancing atrocious, and the attention disconcerting.

Here, we still drew eyes, but the emotions were so much calmer—most of those in attendance were not hormonal adolescents, and a large number of the men were happily married. Their eyes, and desires, drifted occasionally to my wife, but they rarely lingered, for which I was grateful. And, somehow, dressed in the styles of my youth, Alice was even more beautiful to me than she'd ever been before. Together, we circled the room, our eyes focused on one another, completely content. Almost content. I hated that I had to hold my breath, that I couldn't fill my head with the unique scent that was Alice. I wanted her scent in my head more than I wanted the warm blood that surrounded me. I danced her toward the far corner of the room, as far from the humans as I could manage. Then I buried my nose in the little indent between her neck and shoulder and inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with her scent. It swirled in my head, further blocking the humans from my mind, from my attention.

Alice looked at me as I raised my head, one eyebrow lifted slightly.

I grinned at her, feeling like a little boy who had been caught misbehaving by someone he knew wouldn't punish him.

She couldn't keep the answering grin off of her face. Both of us laughed softly as we continued to waltz together.

We only broke apart when we noticed the other couples begin to take their places for the Grand March. I kissed her cheek swiftly before we took our own places.

Surprisingly, I found that I was enjoying myself as we circled the room, the patterns of the dancing couples intermingling and growing steadily more intricate. The purpose of this dance was to see and be seen, considering that the balls of my time were one of the few events where young, unmarried people had a sanctioned excuse to be near one another. The first time we joined into a set of four, we were the inside couple, leaving the unsuspecting human man to catch Alice's arm. Thanks to his coat and gloves, he did not notice the unnatural coolness of her skin. I breathed a small sigh of relief as the couples separated again, only to realize that on the next circuit the positions would be reversed.

The shock to my system when the woman's arm caught my own was staggering. The heat seemed to shoot through every cell in my body, and the venom pooled in my throat. For just a moment I allowed myself to imagine how wonderful that warmth would feel, flowing down my throat—I could only imagine how wonderful she would taste. And then I caught Alice's pointed glare and felt a brief flair of annoyance. I breathed a mental sigh of relief when the pairs separated from one another. As we drifted away from our brief partners, Alice hissed, "Stop fantasizing! I can see when your control is wavering, and you know thoughts like that will only make this harder than it needs to be!"

"Sorry," I muttered, chagrined.

"Just don't let it happen again," she scolded with mock severity. Eventually, the Grand March ended, and the crowd dispersed while the musicians readied themselves for the next set. The caller, a short man with a graying beard stepped forward to welcome us all, giving a short speech about who he was and his goals for the dances of the night. He wanted us to dance some of the more common dances of the era, as well as attempting a few of the more obscure. We began with a Virginia Reel.

As the dance began, and I found myself lost in the steps, hardly noticing the humans clustered around me. I let myself get lost in the steps, lost in the quiet enjoyment of those around me. It was easier to ignore the blood than I'd ever dreamed it was possible to be. Of course, it helped that I never had to touch any of them. The reel was an exception to the rule—most dances featured a change in partners.

The next was one such. After a short pause, the music began again, and the caller began to announce the steps to the new set. About halfway through, I found myself no longer facing Alice, but one of the human women in our set. As I stepped toward her, I saw her eyes widen slightly as she took in my inhuman features, and I felt her instinctive fear for a long moment. She shook her head quickly, forcing herself to ignore fears that seemed irrational, and gracefully met me for the next part of the dance.

The shock of the warmth was even worse this time, but I forced myself to ignore it, focusing instead on thoughts of Alice and the rest of our family. After a long few minutes, I broke away from her, returning to Alice. She smiled at me, and focused on her approval. She was so proud of me, and her faith in me strengthened my resolve. I could do this. I would do this. The next time the dance called for a change in partners, I was better prepared for the shock of the woman's touch. By the end of the dance, I was much more confident in my own resistance. I knew I could trust Alice, and I was beginning to believe that I could trust myself. That confidence only grew with each successive piece.

During the next pause, three men stepped towards the side wall of the room, carrying three chairs with them. When the dancers saw them, the excitement in the room grew from a dull roar in my senses to a raging torrent, and the caller began to laugh. "I see you all know what's next," he called, as the men set the chairs side by side. Quickly, the attendees lined up again, men to one side, women to the other. The caller handed a simple silk fan to the first woman in line.

With a smile, she stepped forward, spreading her skirts carefully around her as she took a seat in the middle chair. As the music started, the first two men in line took their places to either side of her, both flirting shamelessly. She looked to the man on her left, handing her fan to the one on the right. Then, she jumped to her feet as the man who had been to her left grabbed her hands, dancing eagerly down the space between the two lines. At the end, they separated from one another, taking their places at the foot of the line. As they danced, the man on the right moved to the seat in the center, and two women came to sit on either side of him. The pattern continued without a hitch until one of the girls took her place between two more men. I recognized the girl, dark haired, and in a violently red dress, as one of the 5th Texas girls, and the man to her right was Billy Allen, of stolen brogan fame. The one to the left was a Yank. I could feel her indecision—the Yank was the more attractive of the two, but she felt a sort of loyalty to her unit. Billy Allen noticed as well. He leaned toward her, and I heard him ask, "You aren't really going to dance with a Yank, are you?"

The girl laughed, thrusting the fan at the startled Yank. She and Billy danced wildly, swinging into their places at the base of the line.

A few passes later, a small girl that I had not noticed earlier took the middle chair. She couldn't have been more than eight years old, and I could practically taste how proud she was that she'd been allowed to attend the ball like one of the 'big girls'. And then her excitement turned to disbelief. Somehow, the twins had managed to arrange things so that they ended up on either side of the small girl. She looked from one to the other, unable to decide between them. Nearly everyone was laughing at her confusion, and the hilarity only grew when the boys gave her identical sets of pleading eyes. Finally, the next woman in line leaned toward her, whispering, "You can take them both!"

The girl grinned, handing the fan to the woman who had saved her from the choice, and the boys each took one of her small hands in his own, actually skipping down the line with her between them.

Thankfully, when it was my turn, Alice was in the middle seat, and she took me with no hesitation.

As the dance went on, the participants got wilder. When the dark haired girl took the seat for a second time, she ended up sandwiched between two Yanks. With no preamble, she stood, tossing the fan down on the chair, and danced down the line by herself, declaring "Can't dance with a Yank!" as she went.

Jimmy MacGreggor and Beau, another of the Texas boys, ended up on either side of one of the girls, and proceeded to mock glare at one another around her head; the poor girl dissolved into giggles, finally deciding to dance with them both. They continued to glare at one another, each fighting to pull the girl away from the other until they reached the end of the line.

And then a few of the boys started dancing 'hoe down' style in their places, leaping from one foot to the other in time to the music. I caught sight of Alice giggling right before it happened.

Corporal Hastens forgot that his brogans had little traction on the wooden floor, and sprang a bit too enthusiastically. When his feet hit the floor, they slipped out from under him, and he seemed to hover above the boards for a moment. Then he hit the floor. He tried to rise, but he had no purchase on the slippery floor. He fell again.

Red and one of the cannoneers reached down to him, trying to drag him back to his feet. They got him halfway up before they, too, lost their footing. All three ended up on the floor that time. The room echoed with the laughter of the rest.

Eventually, they managed to regain their feet, and the dancing continued. This time, when it was my turn, I ended up in the middle chair, with Alice to one side and a tiny child to the other. Like the first girl, I had not noticed her in attendance, since she was tiny even for her five years. The small redhead was also a Texan, Opie's granddaughter, and her levels of excitement were even higher than that of the first little girl to dance. She was nearly vibrating with excitement, her small feet dangling a foot or more off the floorboards. I was in trouble. She was close enough to me that I could feel the delicate warmth of her body, and it tempted me in ways for which I hated myself. Yet another risk I dared not take, even though the prospect of feeling her disappointment hurt as well. I started to hand the fan to the excited little girl, not trusting my control with such a venerable specimen of humanity, but I was stopped short by Alice's pointed glare.

"Jasper Whitlock,' she spat, "If you do not give me that fan right now…." She left the threat hanging, but I could feel her perfect sincerity saturating every word. Whatever she had planned for me would not be pleasant.

So I did what any self-respecting, happily married man would do. I obeyed my wife. I gave her the fan, got to my feet, and held my hand out to the tiny girl.

Her answering smile was radiant, showing a gap in her teeth from where she'd recently lost one, and her bright blue eyes sparkled. She put her hand in mine with the absolute trust of a child who has never had to face the reality that there was evil in the world. I danced her carefully down the line, hyperaware of how fragile she was. But, through it all, I was proud of my restraint. She was even more helpless than the rest of the humans here, but the monster in me did not rear its ugly head. I didn't even have to hold my breath. In that moment, I knew that control was possible. I was, as Alice had put it earlier, stronger than I thought. I could be around humans; I could touch them. I didn't have to give in to my instincts.

I hardly even felt a twinge of jealousy as I watched another man dance down the line with my Alice in his arms.

The smile she turned on me when she was back in her place opposite me was absolutely radiant.

When the music for the fan dance ended, the caller announced that the next dance would be the final one.

The soft strains of a waltz filled the room, and I took Alice back in my arms, content to whirl with her, focused only on us and the euphoria that came with being close to her. My epiphany, that I was stronger than I had thought, only increased the feeling, until I felt as though I danced on air.

Alice stretched up slightly as we twirled. "I knew you could do it," she murmured, laying her palm against my cheek, contentment filling the air between us.

I realized then that she had seen this. It made her insistence and excitement understandable. She had wanted me to see this, had wanted me to feel confidence in myself and my ability to control the monster within me. Gratitude filled me.

"I should have learned to trust you by now, darling."

"That's right," she chuckled. "You should know it by now! I only wish I hadn't had to dance with someone else for you to realize it!"

My laughter joined hers as the last strains of the music came to a close.

I was strong enough to resist. I was drunk with the relief. I held my arm out to my wife again, smiling softly at her. I wanted to sweep her into my arms, swinging her around as I shouted my euphoria to the stars. I was strong enough. I could resist more than I'd ever dreamed I could. It was hard, so very hard, to stroll decorously out of the crowded hall, but it would not have been proper to give vent to everything I was feeling in that moment.

The darkness was comforting as we walked down the path, a few couples still surrounding us, the moon and stars shining brightly upon us. My joy at discovering my own strength mixed with the love and gratitude that I felt for this amazing woman beside me. With Alice at my side, there was nothing I couldn't do. I laughed as I felt my own high emotions reflected back at me from all of those within my range. Nothing would make this night better.

And then I realized that Alice had led us away from the rest. She came to a graceful halt, tuning to face me.

"Major Whitlock?" she purred. "Have you noticed that we're completely alone here?"

"I hadn't, ma'am, but what do you plan to do with me now?"

I smiled inside when Alice shivered in my arms, and I fought to keep control of another lust entirely.

"Remember those 'enjoyable activities' you offered me earlier?"


End file.
